


Skills

by wolfiefics



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault
Genre: Indian campaign, M/M, alexander is sometimes not the brightest bulb on the tree, bagoas has grown, it took alexander a while to notice, thus endless rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 03:01:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17675186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfiefics/pseuds/wolfiefics
Summary: During the Indian campaign and the endless rain, Alexander returns to his tent to ruminate on his Persian boy.





	Skills

Alexander stepped into the tent, head bent down, staring at the ground as he walked. He slung his dripping wet cloak into a corner and sludged his way toward his desk. His thoughts were mired in military stratigems and statistics and he really wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings.

"Al'skander!" He stopped, startled. Rarely did he hear someone speak to him with such a chiding tone. He looked up and into the huge brown eyes of his Persian lover, Bagoas. Puzzled at the reproving look on Bagoas' face he stared back.

"What?"

"I just -" The boy stopped, chewed on his lip a moment and then bowed his head respectfully. "Nothing, Al'skander." The words were meant to be apologetic, Alexander knew, but they came out forced and tired. Even more perplexed at Bagoas' tone and behavior, Alexander looked around him, noticing clearly how everything sparkled a bit more than usual and the tracks of mud he and his boots had just tromped in.

Bagoas had been cleaning. Interminable weeks of Indian rain had shortened everyone's temper, Alexander knew, but he felt shame all the same. The boy had tried to make the tent comfortable, less dank and dreary, and Alexander, in his preoccupation and distraction, had undone it, rather messily too, from all appearances. The sodden cloak was already creating a huge water stain on the surprisingly dry rugs that floored the tent. The rugs themselves, undoubtedly cleaned with painstaking precision that was Bagoas' nature, now bore mud spatters and muddy footprints. In a little niche, Bagoas' own shoes stood, clearly an area where the wet things could be left without dirtying up the rest of the tent.

Ashamed, Alexander watched as Bagoas picked up the cloak and went to a corner unadorned by rugs or various paraphernalia of Alexander's decor. The boy wrung out the water, splattering himself. Alexander looked down; his own chiton and palmys were still dripping water on the carpets. He began to remove them.

"No, Al'skander, I'll do it." Bagoas walked over and instead of allowing the boy to undress him, Alexander gently slapped his hands away.

"I'm not helpless and I've undone all your hard work. It can be my punishment for my carelessness, not having you undress me." He ignored Bagoas' expression of disapproval. Despite it all, the boy still saw him as the Great King; kings did not undress themselves.

Nude and drying himself with a soft towel the eunuch handed him, Alexander walked over to his trunk where clean clothes could be found. Continuing to ignore Bagoas' disapproval, he began to dress himself. Unable to stand it any longer, Bagoas helped him. Alexander allowed it, knowing Bagoas would just be hurt if he refused the help.

As the eunuch turned away to dispose of the wet clothing, Alexander caught his wrist and pulled him into a gentle hug. "I am sorry, Bagoas. My carelessness, I mean."

Bagoas only sighed into the embrace. "I know, Al'skander."

"You worked hard this morning, I can tell, and I was ungrateful."

"No."

"You argue with your king?" Alexander had meant the comment to be teasing but Bagoas immediately took it seriously.

He pulled away, completely aghast. "I meant no disrespect, Al'skander!"

Alexander frowned. Usually Bagoas wasn't quite so sensitive. Something else was wrong, but at the moment he couldn't put his finger on it. As his old tutor would have said, further observation was needed, so Alexander sat down at his desk, making pretence of reading letters he'd already read and watched Bagoas with hooded eyes.

The first thing he noticed was that 'the boy' was a boy no longer. He was definitely a man. His build had bulked up, his muscles more lean but not in the way of a soldier. Bagoas was a dancer and would always have a dancer's grace and build. Alexander had never taken seriously Bagoas' occasional comments about wishing to learn to soldier. Always Alexander had thought it silly that a boy so sensitive and frail should be placed in such a position; he'd last not a moment in a fight. Now watching Bagoas move, evaluating the young man not as a lover, a defenseless subject, but as a man, Alexander saw that Bagoas could easily be a very lithe, very dangerous fighter.

The type that could dance around an opponent, slipping under sword thrusts and nimbly dodging a thrown spear. Bagoas' motions were quick yet smooth. There was no clumsiness present anywhere in his actions. Had it always been thus and Alexander had just not wanted to see it?

As he watched Bagoas clean where Alexander had made a mess and then continue his tidying of Alexander's collection of specimens and herbs, the king remembered that Bagoas was good with a bow. The Persian went on hunts alone and with Alexander. Those long graceful hands confidently held a spear and he never wavered in danger, even though it was obvious Bagoas was afraid. Considering the quarry Alexander hunted, you'd be a fool if you didn't fear an angered boar or cornered bear.

Bagoas was intelligent. Philostratos still commented upon Bagoas' desire and eagerness for learning and knowledge. He wrote and read Greek better than most Greeks, Alexander knew. He could cipher using his own people's script, though the literature itself eluded him. That bothered Alexander none, for he too could not understand the odd geometric-shaped symbols of Persian writing. That Bagoas had mastered the number end of that complex language was indeed a feat of intellect.

"Al'skander!" He looked up, startled once more, as Bagoas stared at him puzzledly. 

"I'm sorry, I was thinking." He smiled at the young man. "You asked something?"

"Where are your labels? The ones on the herbs are starting to wear away." Bagoas held out a small jar, which indeed was almost unreadable, so faded was the labeling.

"Ah." Alexander rummaged around in one of the many small boxes next to his desk and handed Bagoas what he required. Alexander had discovered that a gummy substance could be added to the back of papyri and then attached to the jars, flasks, and jugs he used to store his specimens. A bit more convenient, considering how often he reused the pots; he could change the labels for them as well.

With a perplexed look, Bagoas used the stylo and small jar of ink to make a new label, and replaced the old label for wormwood with the new. He paused as he handed the precious things back to his king and then continued his work, eventually falling to humming some tune that only he knew the words to. Alexander had never learned to appreciate Persian songs; they sounded insipid to him.

"What are you humming?" he asked, despite himself, knowing he was going to regret listening to the many versed song.

Bagoas gave him a shy smile as he refolded some linens in a corner trunk. "A battle song my father used to sing with his friends."

Intrigued, Alexander tilted his head. "Don't sing it but tell me about it."

Bagoas frowned. "No, it will only make you angry."

Taken aback for the third time that afternoon, Alexander thought a moment. "Why would you say so?"

Bagoas sighed and continued folding, but the golden haired Macedonian could tell the eunuch was weighing his response. "The song is about fighting eunuchs. We can be fierce soldiers too, you know. You hate hearing me talk about learn the art of war, so I hesitated to tell you the subject matter."

It was easily the most complicated sentence he'd ever heard Bagoas say in Greek. In fact, probably the most he'd heard Bagoas say in a several months.

"Ah." Alexander nodded. "I was just thinking along those lines though." Bagoas looked up at him in a startled manner. "Yes, I was thinking you've grown considerably since you came to me. You're not just a dancing boy anymore, are you, Bagoas? You're a man now, well, as much as being cut will allow you to be." 

Bagoas just stared.

"I think perhaps you might be right in some ways. You should learn to defend yourself at the very least. What happens if one day I'm not infallible and someone breaks through our lines and attacks this camp? I won't have it said my Bagoas died unable to defend himself." Alexander chuckled as Bagoas' eyes grew huge and round in complete surprise. It was apparent his eunuch was speechless. Alexander decided to take advantage of it while he could. There were times Bagoas could talk the ears off you, if you let him.

"But in the meantime, you have other skills." Alexander gave Bagoas a wicked grin that caused the young man to actually flush in embarassment. Alexander delighted in doing that; it was damned hard to make Bagoas, the former pleasure slave of Darius, and Alexander's own lover of many years, go to blush. The boy knew more tricks in the art of love than many whores, Alexander knew, yet to make him blush was definitely a skill that Alexander cherished as his own. "Come, show me your other skills and then tomorrow I'll teach you some new ones."

Quickly recovered, Bagoas literally slithered to the bed, joining his Macedonian king. "I like the sound of that," he whispered before Alexander's mouth closed over his.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea when this written, to be honest. So anytime between 2004 and 2006 in theory, when I was active in several Alexander 'fandoms'. Again, like all my Alexander stories and most of my early slash, written under the now defunct penname Bagoas Alexandros.


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